


Ilanah and the Satyrs

by Willendorfer



Category: Intermezzo - Fandom, Sefer Bereshit | Book of Genesis, Xarcturus
Genre: Anal Sex, BBW, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, F/M, Fauns & Satyrs, Fraternal Polyandry, Group Sex, Nephilim, Oral Sex, Polyandry, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willendorfer/pseuds/Willendorfer
Summary: Ilanah meets and falls in love with seven satyr brothers.
Relationships: Ilanah-satyrs
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Ilanah and the Satyrs

**Author's Note:**

> This story is loosely based on certain drawings by a pornographic cartoon artist calling himself (I assume it’s a ‘he’) Xarcturus, or ArcturusX1. Some of his work is frankly reprehensible: it erotically celebrates various forms of rape. By no means do I condone such works. But he also has a series titled Intermezzo, showing exuberant love-making between a diminutive satyr and a red-headed BBW (the artist calls her Aileen; I have changed that to the Hebrew name Ilanah, for reasons explained below.) And the look between Aileen and this satyr in these drawings is so tender and intimate, and the sex is so joyful and enthusiastically consensual ... well, I felt compelled to write a story about them (and put the artist’s other work out of my mind). Another drawing of his shows this Aileen enjoying sex with a group of satyrs, which suggested a further plot development. 
> 
> The presence of satyrs puts this story in the realm of Classical mythology. But this Aileen character did not seem to fit in a Greco-Roman world. Instead, my mind went to the opening chapters of Genesis, mixed with a dash of Narnia: I imagined a world in which the expulsion from the Garden of Eden never happened, in which humans live alongside the mythical creatures called 'nephilim' (Genesis 6), including satyrs. This Edenic world does not reflect Original Sin theology: people are born, sexually procreate, and eventually die of old age, though we may assume, following Genesis, that they may live very long lives. Nor are these people morally perfect: they have limitations and blindspots, and sometimes this results in conflict. But in such a world, there is no violence, nor gross social inequality, nor estrangement of humans from love and communion with God – here referred to as ‘Havayah’ (a divine name sometimes used by feminist Jewish theologians). Along the way, I’ve thrown in various Biblical and later Jewish cultural elements: an anachronistic mish-mash.
> 
> There's also a coincidental resemblance to Snow White and the seven dwarfs, though that was not consciously on my mind as I wrote it.

I

It was late afternoon, still many hours before dusk; but in the woodland glades roundabout Ilanah’s village, the sunlight at this particular time of day bathed the trees and grass in a golden, dappled light that warmed Ilanah's heart, filling her with the love of Havayah. Bees buzzed, birds sang, boars trudged along the trails grunting their self-absorbed grunts, as all the woodland creatures readied themselves for evening. It was the perfect time of day for composing a poem.

And so, taking pen and inkhorn, and her poetry book, Ilanah set out to visit her favourite oak tree, to find inspiration. It took some patience, Ilanah found, opening herself up to this inspiration, putting aside her mundane thoughts, opening her heart to the lifeforce around her. She began, as was her practice, by picking an apple from a nearby tree, then settling her plump bottom down at the roots of her oak tree, eating the apple very slowly, intentionally savouring each sweet little bite, gradually letting gratitude to Havayah well up within her. When the apple was finished, she stood up and untied her skirt, spreading it on the ground beneath her like a blanket. She sat down on it, reclining against the oak, spreading her thick thighs, drawing her knees up, closing her eyes, as she let her fingers caress the mound below her rounded belly, combing through her nest of flame-coloured pubic hair ... then straying lower, between the moistening labia, which opened now like the petals of a flower, wetting her fingers, then circling lightly around her stiffening little bud. She could feel her connection to the lifeforce in the oak tree now -- it was palpable, radiating up through the base of her spine – and through it, connecting her to the Presence of Havayah, in all Her myriad forms, as the sexual pleasure mounted within her. At last she shuddered and cried out as the orgasm overtook her, and she mentally offered up her pleasure as a thank-offering to Havayah. _Whew!_ There was a glorious poem in that one for sure.

Ilanah opened her eyes and sat up, licking her fingers clean. She grabbed her book, opening to a blank page to begin writing. A moment ago, she had felt the words forming in her mind, but now ... _pfft,_ gone, not an idea remained. Something was intruding upon her concentration. She could not see it, but she felt it now. Something was watching her. She had forgotten to speak her usual Words of Power for shielding herself, to prevent this sort of interruption of her poetic process. Warily, she stood up and tied her skirt back on.

‘Child of Havayah, come forth so I can see you,’ she announced firmly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a rustling in the brushwood. No, it was not brushwood ... oh dear, it was one of the nephilim. It – no, _he_ ... definitely _he_ – stepped into the clearing on his goat-like legs. A satyr. Ilanah had never had such a good look at one before. He was only half her height, with an unruly mane on his horned head, a pointed beard on his chin, his body tautly muscular, his shaggy loins and thighs tapering into surprisingly elegant fetlocks and hooves. And despite his diminutive stature, he was sporting an erection that was larger and thicker than any Ilanah had ever seen on a full-grown man. His skin was dusky, the hair on his head and legs a darker brown, but his phallus was an incandescent red, almost purple at its tip. She could not take her eyes from it.

The satyr sheepishly – or rather, goatishly – made a belated gesture of greeting.

‘Peace upon you, daughter of Havayah. Forgive me, I did not wish to disturb you. You are very beautiful. It gave me great pleasure to behold you. I am grateful for the sight. No offence was intended.’

Gave him pleasure indeed! she snorted to herself, more in amusement than anger. The fur of his legs was splattered with his fresh semen; the tip of his phallus was still dripping with it! She could feel lust radiating off him. Well, satyrs weren’t exactly known for subtlety in matters of sex. She would have been offended if it had been a son of Adam watching her surreptitiously like that. But satyrs, everyone knew, are drawn to female sexuality like bees to nectar. With Ilanah's long, wavy copper-coloured hair and thickset womanly figure, combined with the unshielded sexual display she had just (inadvertently) put on, it was a wonder she had only attracted one of them.

The daughters of Eve generally regarded satyrs and other nephilim as harmless nuisances ... or so they said. But Ilanah had heard tales – some cautionary, some ribald – of women who welcomed the sexual attentions of satyrs. In Ilanah’s experience, satyrs rarely actually intruded upon humans. This satyr’s behaviour was typical: watching from a distance, with prurient interest to be sure; but he had only stepped forward when she had called him out.

Well, the poem that had been forming in her head was clean gone now, thanks to Goatlegs here. That _was_ annoying. And yet ... there was something comically endearing about the way he tried to put a polite spin on his naughty behaviour. And he had called her beautiful. When a son of Adam called you beautiful, the compliment might be a mere expression of affability, or politeness. This satyr’s phallus, still erect even after ejaculating, showed that he _really_ meant it. And she found him ... she struggled for the appropriate word ... rather ‘cute’, with his childlike stature, the earnest expression on his face, framed by the elegant upward sweep of his horns. His voice was pleasant: deep and musical. And after the peak of sexual arousal she had just brought herself to, she was, if the truth be told, feeling rather responsive to his lust. She wondered how it would feel to run her fingers through his shaggy hair.

Part of her wanted to prolong this encounter, to learn more about this creature of Havayah. But ... she really ought to be returning home now, to bake bread for her evening meal, and take care of half a dozen other chores that needed doing before nightfall. And she had no reason to detain him further – aside from wanting to bask in the warmth of his lust a little longer.

‘No offence was taken,’ she said at last, with a wistful smile. ‘Go in peace, son of Havayah.’

She tucked her pen between her breasts, and gathered up her inkhorn and book.

‘What is that?’ the satyr asked, his brow wrinkled with puzzlement.

‘This? This is my book.’

‘What is a ‘book’?’

‘Come closer, let me show you.’ He trotted nimbly over to her, his lust now mingled with curiosity. ‘You see these marks on the pages? These are words, words of poems.’

She could smell him now: a pleasant scent, fresh and woodsy ... and unambiguously _male_.

‘I do not understand, daughter of Eve,’ he shook his head.

‘I am called Ilanah.’

‘You honour me by sharing your name with me, beautiful Ilanah. I am called Yaqum.’

‘And you honour me. Very well, Yaqum. What do you not understand?’

‘Well ... words of a poem pass from the mouth of one child of Havayah to the ears of another. The marks on this ‘book’ ... what do they have to do with words?’

She searched her mind for a helpful illustration. ‘When you see dark clouds in the sky, Yaqum, what does that tell you?’

‘It is a sign that rain will fall,’ he answered.

‘Precisely. The sight of the clouds is different from the experience of rain on the skin, but the clouds tell that rain is coming. Just so, these marks on the paper are signs telling me which words to recite. Listen.’ Ilanah turned to one of her poems and began to chant:

> _Raise a shout for Havayah, all the earth;_
> 
> _Worship Havayah in gladness;_
> 
> _Come into Her presence with shouts of joy._
> 
> _Know that Havayah is our mother,_
> 
> _She bore us and we are Hers ..._ ’

She looked up from the page. To her surprise, Yaqum was quietly trembling and weeping.

‘Will you not continue, or was that the end?’ he asked softly.

‘But it distresses you, dear Yaqum.’

‘Oh, no, not at all. I weep easily, when I hear a beautiful poem. I feel in your words the ... the _welcome,_ and the acceptance; the deep, joyful invitation into Her Presence, into communion with Her. It moves me. The poem is yours? Or you learned it from someone else?’

‘It is mine,’ she said proudly. ‘Or rather, I feel I received it from Her Presence. That is how all my poems come to me. I ... I did not know that nephilim appreciate poetry.’

‘Many do not,’ he shrugged. ‘Harpies, for example, have no use for it; but most satyrs enjoy poetry. May I sing you one, something of my own?’

‘Please.’

‘It ... it is in the satyrs’ language. I cannot sing it in your tongue.’

‘Let me hear it, please. Afterwards, you can explain to me what it means.’

He began in a sort of low gravelly hum, his voice then rising in pitch and loudness, the song becoming strongly rhythmic, his compact little body swaying and trembling as he chanted. She felt loneliness and sadness in the melody. Then the tone changed, and ... _oh my!_ feelings of intense sexual desire suddenly washed over her: she could barely resist the urge to reach between her legs and finger herself again right there in front of him, or even to fall on him and ride that magnificent phallus of his.

Yaqum showed no such restraint: he gripped his swollen member in both hands as his song reached its climax, stroking it, then spurting copiously onto the ground. But as he recovered from his orgasm, Yaqum continued singing. There was something joyful and infinitely tender in his tone now. It touched Ilanah deeply. Then his voice diminished to a murmur, with a tone of awe, of worship. Ilanah sensed his thankfulness to Havayah, and an answering blessing of Her Presence. He ended, in a reverential hush.

Ilanah and Yaqum looked at each other for some time.

‘It means –’

‘Er, yes, thank you, Yaqum, um ... no translation is needed.’

She could tell that his poem had been extempore: the feelings that he sang about were his feelings about meeting _her_ , Ilanah. She felt awkward now, not knowing what to do with this raw intimacy that had welled up between them so suddenly. Ilanah knew well from her own practice that sexual release could go hand-in-hand with poetic inspiration. But the intensity of Yaqum’s sexual hunger had shocked her a bit. Or thrilled her? She needed to get away from him, to clear her head.

‘Your poem was ... very powerful,’ she tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Masterful, in fact. Thank you, dear Yaqum. But ... I must go home now.’

‘I see,’ he said, his shoulders deflating.

Yaqum looked crushed. If she left now, she might never see him again. Could she bear that?

‘Tomorrow,’ she said, ‘could we perhaps meet again? By this oak, at noon? I ... I could teach you how to read words in a book, if you like.’

His face brightened at once. ‘That would please me greatly, beautiful Ilanah. I thank you.’ His phallus, which had gone flaccid, now sprang to life again. She chuckled to herself: she would never have to wonder what was on this one’s mind.

‘Well ... until tomorrow then. Peace upon you, dear Yaqum.’

  


II

Ilanah dwelt in a simple wattle-and-daub hut, on the edge of her village. She shared her hut with a few hens, who came inside at nightfall, and nested in some boxes she had built for them: she was grateful for the eggs they gave her. Once she had shared her hut with a son of Adam, by the name of Nadav. She had enjoyed the low rumble of her husband’s voice. She had enjoyed lying with him. But her womb would not open to his seed: she could give him no children. And so Nadav had left her, some years previously, for a slender, dark-haired woman named Elisheva, who gave him three children in short order, with another now in her belly.

Ilanah was a stunningly attractive woman – at least to those who appreciated a woman with plenty of extra meat on her bones, and an abundance of flame-red hair – and some of the unattached young men of the village paid court to her from time to time. Sometimes, out of loneliness, Ilanah would lie with one of them. But her soul never cleaved to any of them. She found them all rather dull, focused on the productivity of their fields and orchards, to the exclusion of all else. Truth be told, she felt the same about all the people of her village, even those who were her kin. Or the people of other villages she had visited. They were grateful to Havayah for their food and their health, and there their imaginations stopped. They sang poems at the seasonal festivals; but otherwise, they had no use for poetry. Ilanah, in turn, was regarded by them as a bit of an oddbod, a misfit. There was no ill will, per se. The villagers all took care of one another, helped each other out when help was needed, and Ilanah was never excluded from that. There were bonds of kinship. But she felt no close friendship with any of them. Ilanah had become comfortable in her status as a loner. She had her poetry to content her. Her heart was full of gratitude to Havayah. She felt Her nurturing Presence often.

So why had it thrown her into such a tizzy, meeting this satyr, exchanging a few words with him? She pondered this question as she cleared away her evening meal of bread and pottage, and readied herself for bed. He had called her beautiful, _three times._ Even more endearingly, he found her poem beautiful ... though it was a poor thing compared to his overpowering poem – which he had composed _off the top of his head_ , for goodness sake! And she remembered the thrilling male scent of him.

But why did thinking on him, remembering these little things, make her grow wet between her thighs, and make her nipples harden? Why did he make her feel warmth in the depth of her soul? Was she really prepared to become one of those daughters of Eve who lets herself be seduced by a satyr, an object of pity or amusement to her neighbours?

Perhaps he would not even show up tomorrow. People often joked that a satyr will try to mate with any living creature with a hole to stick it in. Perhaps by tomorrow Yaqum would have found a new object of his lust – a nanny-goat or a cow ... she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought – and forgotten all about Ilanah.

But her heart would not let her believe it. Oh ... what do we humans truly know about nephilim anyway? she thought. She sat on her bed and wordlessly opened her heart to Havayah. She felt the Presence descend on her, reassuring her. Are the nephilim not beloved children of Havayah, just as are the children of Adam and Eve, and all the other creatures? Would she let herself be scared away from Yaqum by idle tales of her small-minded neighbours? Ilanah would find out for herself just what this satyr was made of.

  


III

She rose early, washing herself extra-thoroughly by the cistern, then bustling about her hut, trying to get all the day’s chores out of the way by the early fore-noon. At last, taking her current poetry book, and two of her older ones, Ilanah set out again for her oak tree.

She found Yaqum waiting there for her, holding a bouquet of wildflowers he had gathered for her.

‘Beautiful Ilanah, peace upon you ... I feared you would not come.’

‘Of course I came! Oh Yaqum, truly, I could not wait to see you again.’

‘Truly?!’ His face shone with joy; his phallus stood flat up against his belly. ‘Oh Ilanah, may I embrace you?’

Laughing, she held out her arms to him. But Yaqum’s head only came to her waist: he threw his arms tightly round her thighs, enthusiastically nuzzling his face into her groin, snuffling up the scent of her arousal – for aroused she certainly was. She could feel his hot breath on her plump mound through the thin fabric of her skirt. Then he began trying to tug her skirt down, but the wide curve of her hips kept it in place.

‘Hey!’ she pulled sharply away from him. ‘I thought,’ she said with mock severity, ‘we were meeting so I could teach you to read books.’

‘But, you said I could embrace you. I ... I only wanted ...’

‘I know very well what you wanted, dear Yaqum,’ she giggled. ‘And if you behave yourself ... I might be inclined to give you everything you want, and more. But first, a reading lesson.’

‘Very well ...’ he sighed. ‘ _Everything_?’ he grinned hopefully.

‘Come, sit beside me here and we’ll read together.’

He sat down, but the way she held the book before her, it was too high for him to see.

‘Could you lay the book down?’ he asked. ‘The ground is dry; the book will not be soiled.’

‘Then it is too far from my eyes: I cannot focus on the page properly. Wait ... here ... I can lay the book on the ground, and lie down on my front. Now we both can see it properly.’

‘Beautiful!’ he sighed happily, surveying her prone body, a position which accentuated her deep cleavage and the mountainous swell of her backside.

‘Now Yaqum,’ she scolded, ‘keep your eyes on the page. See, this mark is a letter called ‘alef’. It looks like an ox’s head. And it means the sound ‘aaa’. Do you see other alefs on this page?’

He found them all, easily.

‘Excellent! Now, this letter is called ‘bet’. It looks like a house, and it makes the sound ‘bababa’.’

He spotted all the bet’s on the page as well.

‘Now, this word is spelt alef-bet-alef. Can you guess which word that is?’

‘Aaabababaaaa ... Aba [father]?’

‘Correct!’ Ilanah applauded, making her redoubtable bosom quiver and bounce on the ground. ‘Oh Yaqum, you’ve read your first word!’ She leaned over and affectionately kissed his forehead.

They went on to a dozen more letters. Ilanah checked that Yaqum had retained everything: his memory was flawless.

‘That is excellent work, enough for today. We will continue with the remaining letters tomorrow.’

‘We can meet again tomorrow?’

‘It will take some time, teaching you to read, dear Yaqum. And you must teach me the satyr language. Then we must devise a way of writing that down, so that we can preserve your poems. Yes,’ she smiled coquettishly, ‘it seems we will be spending a lot of time together.’

‘Nothing could please me more, beautiful Ilanah.’ His grin warmed her down to her toenails. 'And you must meet my family -- my brothers, that is.'

‘Certainly. Now, I thought it might be enjoyable to share some, er, poetry again. It, er, might be best if I go first.’

‘May I make myself comfortable, whilst you recite?’

‘Of course.’

Yaqum promptly crawled onto her thighs, laying his head down on her ample bottom.

‘Oh, is _that_ how you get comfortable?’ she laughed, pleased by his playfulness.

‘Mmm, yes, such lovely, soft pillows your buttocks make!’ He wedged his face between her skirt-covered cheeks. ‘Mhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmh!’ he growled possessively. She could feel his breath again on her vulva and anus.

‘You are tickling me! I cannot recite my poem if you do that.’

‘Why not?’ He was now nuzzling hungrily into her fat, wobbly bottom, like a baby goat searching for its mother’s teat.

‘Because, _oh!_... I cannot think straight when you do that!’

Ilanah’s plan – if something so vague could be called a plan – had been to let him recite another poem, after she had recited hers, thinking it would make her feel thoroughly wanton again and chase all her inhibitions away, and then ... whatever would happen would happen. Well, he was doing a fine job of that even without his poetry, with his hot nuzzling and kissing and snuffling. _Oh great Havayah,_ she could feel his tongue now: he was licking her! Her skirt was getting wet, with his saliva and the womanly fluids she was leaking. The poetry-reading plan was a lost cause, she decided. Ilanah was ready now – more than ready! – to let him do anything he wanted with her ... and she wanted to do quite a few things with him as well.

‘ _Oh!_ Very well, let us get this skirt out of the way ...’ She undid the tie that kept it round her waist.

‘Beautiful Ilanah ...’ he gasped, pulling the material down, exposing her immense, quivering, rosy-pink bottom to his adoring gaze. Then he plunged his head back down, showering her buttocks with kisses, giving her love bites that made her squeal and shudder with pleasure.

Then ( _oh!_ ) he nuzzled into the cleft, licking up and down the furrow, returning again and again to her ( _oh!_ ) anus, licking over and around it, tasting her. She had assumed he was going for the ... _other place_ ... she had not expected this ... neither Nadav nor any lover since had ever ... but ( _oh!_ ) it felt so _good_! She reached back, spreading her cheeks for him, opening herself to him. Then he wedged the tip of his tongue inside her sphincter.

‘Uunnngggghhhh! YESSS!’ she gasped, letting her anus open to him.

His tongue surged inside – deep into her bowels ... how was that even physically possible, for his tongue to penetrate her so deeply? He reached underneath her with his little hand and began delicately, expertly stroking her clitoris. Oh, who cared _how_ he did it, as long he kept that hot satyr tongue wriggling within her bottom, sliding in and out, and his fingers playing over her engorged, glistening bud.

Ilanah was beyond words now – squealing, laughing, sobbing, gasping in turns, orgasming repeatedly – as Yaqum growled excitedly into her bottom. _Inhibitions?_ \-- she forgot what the word even meant! She was completely open to him now, in her heart and mind as well as well as her bottom.

And just when she thought she could not possibly climax again, he withdrew his tongue, hauling her up on her knees, bottom up in the air, so he could get his mouth on her plump vulva. (So he was interested in that too: _good!_ ) Now that amazing satyr tongue of his filled her vagina, as he sucked her labia and clitoris into his open mouth, his beard and moustache delightfully tickling her sensitive folds. The orgasms, needless to say, resumed in full force. He continued sucking hungrily at her, whilst his fingers lovingly caressed and probed her still dilated anus. Yaqum’s powerful tongue was massaging that sweet spot on the upper surface of her vagina now, giving her even stronger orgasms, making her gush fluid, which he gratefully drank down.

At last, he withdrew his face, his chin dripping.

Never in her life had Ilanah imagined, let alone experienced, lovemaking like this! A long series of intense climaxes like that should have left her comatose. Instead, something about sex with Yaqum seemed to reinvigorate her, energize her, heal her, at the same time that it obliterated all her tensions, making her feel much closer to him than she had ever felt toward any lover, and making her eager for more.

‘Do not move,’ he commanded. She remained on her knees, bottom raised. Yaqum piled her books in a stack behind her on the ground, then stood upon them, to give himself enough height, grabbing onto her wide hips. She felt the head of his phallus now pressing into the ring of her anus. She was still wide-open back there from the tongue-reaming he had given her, and his thick tool slid into her smoothly. Almost immediately, he grunted with joy, and she felt him spurting his hot semen inside her, flooding her rectum; but he remained hard, and began rhythmically thrusting deep within her, making her fat bottom ripple and judder. She took hold of a fallen bough in front of her, bracing herself against it, as he pounded into her.

‘Unngh, do not stop ... yesss ... dear Yaqum ... do not stop ... so good ...’, she chanted. With each thrust, Ilanah opened up to him more and more, loving the phallus that filled her bottom so perfectly, loving the adorable satyr that it was attached to. With each thrust, she felt him claiming her: she was his now, and this new feeling thrilled her.

‘Yaaahhhh!!!!’ he bellowed at last, his body going rigid, and she felt his phallus twitching, pumping her full of semen once again, immediately bringing on her own earthquake of an orgasm. They both collapsed together on the ground, panting, his phallus at last going soft. He withdrew it, with a ‘plop’. Her anus burped a little air, then semen spilled out of her, puddling on the ground.

Eventually, Ilanah sat up. The satyr stood before her, grinning from ear to ear. He leaned into her, rubbing his nose tenderly, intimately, against hers.

‘Precious Ilanah. Sweet honeybee,’ he whispered.

‘You seem to be quite taken with my bottom,’ she giggled.

‘Yes, you are beautiful,’ he said simply. ‘Not just your bottom,’ he added.

She enfolded his firm little torso in her arms, pressing her large, soft breasts against the taut muscles of his chest. He began kissing her, and she responded eagerly; the tongue that had given such pleasure to her nether holes now filled her mouth, slowly dancing with hers. She unwrapped her breastband, baring her bosom to her lover, guiding his hands up to them.

‘So lovely,’ he whispered.

She moaned into his mouth, as his nimble little hands caressed and kneaded her breasts, making her nipples ache with pleasure.

He kissed her neck, her shoulder, making his way down to those breasts, taking one of them in his mouth, sucking on her thick nipple like an infant.

‘My lamb,’ she murmured happily, as she cradled his head in her arms, running her fingers through his coarse, thick hair.

As he continued nursing, switching from one breast to the other, she ran her hand down his chest and abdomen, down into the furry thicket of his loins, and took his phallus in her hand. She was not surprised to find him already fully erect again.

‘My eager billy-goat,’ she chuckled.

Now Ilanah had one thing and one thing only on her mind: that beautiful phallus of his. Playfully, she pounced on him – he was strong, but she was twice his size and much heavier – knocking him off his hooves onto his back, as she took his pulsing, thick member in her mouth, bobbing her head up and down on it, whilst she caressed and fondled his furry scrotum.

‘Unnffff!’ he groaned, as his body went rigid. A split-second later, he began spurting semen into her mouth. Ilanah had never minded swallowing a man’s seed: she enjoyed pleasing a lover that way. But Yaqum’s semen, she found, was absolutely delicious, tasting of wild figs and almonds; she swallowed it all hungrily, though he kept pumping it out for quite some time, writhing and groaning beneath her. Even more than the taste of it, she savoured her connection to him, and the power of pleasuring him, the intimacy of having him between her lips. He had taken possession of her anus, but now she had turned the tables on him, claiming the phallus that had claimed her: he was hers now. He finally had to pry her mouth off his now flaccid organ, as she tried to drain him to the last delectable drop.

She kissed her way up his belly and chest, before reuniting her lips with his mouth.

‘There. I promised to give you everything you wanted, dear Yaqum,’ she said playfully. ‘Did I keep my promise?’

But Yaqum’s expression turned serious.

‘Beautiful Ilanah,’ he sighed, ‘what you gave me was precious beyond reckoning. But no ... it was far from everything that I wanted. For that, I would need a lifetime with you. _We_ would, my brothers and I.’

Ilanah’s heart froze. ‘Your brothers? What do they have to do with us?’ she stammered.

‘You must meet them, as I said, and get to know them. I have six brothers. They are my achavah ... my brother-family. Ilanah, perhaps I should explain to you how satyrs live.’

‘I have heard stories,’ she said coldly.

‘My brothers and I share everything. It is the halakhah that Havayah gave to the satyrs.’

‘I see.’ Ilanah pulled away from Yaqum, then stood and tied her skirt back on.

‘Ilanah, honeybee ... do not be angry. Why does it trouble you to hear of my brothers?’

‘You call me your honeybee’, she spat, ‘and then you speak of sharing me with your brothers, like a ... a bowl of olives to be passed around the table, each of you taking what he wants of me, till there is nothing left!’ Ilanah quaked with anger. ‘Perhaps when you and your brothers tire of me, you will pass me on to another pack of nephilim. _Why does it trouble me?!_ ’ She tied her breastband back round her chest. ‘I heard stories of how satyrs seduce daughters of Eve, and then use them like a ... like a common latrine! I didn’t want to believe it could be true of you, Yaqum.’ She turned away, her eyes blinded by angry tears.

‘NO! You don’t understand at all. Please listen ...’

But Ilanah was already running away. When she reached her house, she threw herself down on her bed, her body convulsed with sobbing, until she wore herself out, and sleep mercifully overtook her.

  


IV

She woke to the feeling of a damp cloth on her forehead. Her eyes adjusted to the lamplight.

‘Grandmother?’

‘Ssh, child. Peace upon you. All will be well, with Havayah’s Presence.’

‘Why are you here?’

‘Nu, to take care of my beloved granddaughter, of course, after your distressing experience, whatever it was. I have heated some soup for you. Are you hungry?’

Ilanah had not eaten since breakfast and it was now past sunset – but then she remembered the events of noontime, and her hunger was abruptly squelched by a wave of nausea. She shook her head.

‘Who says I had a distressing experience?’

Grandmother Na’amah rolled her eyes. ‘Ilanah, half a dozen people saw you running through the village this afternoon bawling like a colicky infant. Of course I heard about it. I told your mother and father that I would attend to you. I thought it best to let you sleep for a while. Here, if you will not eat, at least take a cup of wine.’

Her throat was parched. Ilanah sat up and drank a little.

‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Na’amah asked.

Ilanah shook her head.

‘Then I will speak bluntly. Your clothes and hair are dishevelled; you smell of sex. It has been a long time since you were interested in any of the sons of Adam roundabout. So I would guess that this has to do with satyrs.’

Ilanah hid her face in her hands. How would she bear the shame of this?

‘Granddaughter, you need to know something ... about me. When I was a young woman, I fell in love with a band of satyr brothers, an "achavah", they called themselves.’

Ilanah’s eyes opened wide.

‘This was before I wed your grandfather, may his memory be for a blessing. I ... I lived with my achavah for eight years. I was their treasured ba’alit – that is what they called me, their joint wife. My seven husbands wanted only to please me. I loved them. I bore them seven beautiful little satyr boys.’ Na’amah sniffed back her tears.

‘But once our sons were born, I began to resent the attention my husbands gave to the boys: they still adored and desired me, but I was no longer the sole focus of their lives. The unpleasant truth is that I was an immature, stupid, selfish girl. I began to tell myself that my husbands no longer needed me. I came to miss my old life in the village, among the children of Adam and Eve. I longed to see the friends of my childhood again. It sounds pathetic, but I so missed the taste of fresh-baked bread! If I had had more courage, I could have gone back and forth between my satyr family and the village. But I was ashamed of my ties to nephilim, of what people would think of me. So I turned my back on my sweet satyr husbands and my precious children. I came back here. I made up a false story to explain my absence: I said that I had wed a son of Adam from a distant village and lived there with him, that I had since become a widow and chosen to return to the village of my birth. Your grandfather fell in love with me, and I wed him. In time, I had a new family. But not a day goes by that I do not grieve for the satyr family I abandoned. And I never breathed a word of my past to anyone. Until now.’ Na’amah was weeping freely now.

‘Oh Ilanah, I am so ashamed of how I behaved! But my regret is not about my time with the satyrs – it is about leaving them. Though I cannot regret my wonderful human children and grandchildren, including you. I'm afraid I was not yet ready to be a mother, when I lived with my satyr husbands. In the intervening years, I learned some things about myself; I grew up. I hope I have been a better mother, and grandmother, to my human children. But my satyr boys ...the older ones cannot have kind memories of the mother who abandoned them; the youngest would not remember me at all. My husbands must lament that they ever met me. Well, I must live with the pain of knowing that. Now, I ask you again: _what happened this afternoon?_ ’

Ilanah and Na’amah talked late into the night. She was amazed to hear that her grandmother’s experience – being sexually shared by a band of satyr brothers – was not at all demeaning. The very opposite: it had been indescribably pleasurable, enjoying the fervent love and desire of seven husbands, with no hint of jealousy among them. Sometimes Na’amah had lain with one or two of them at a time, more often with all of them together. But it was not just the sexual part that was pleasurable: their whole life together had been harmonious, or so it seemed in retrospect. Until the seeds of resentment took hold in her heart. Her satyr husbands had done everything for her; they had wanted only to please their ba’alit.

Na’amah further explained that when young satyrs come of age, they set out to find a ba’alit for their own achavah. They scout as individuals, looking for a suitable, willing female, and then the brothers confer. Sometimes they choose a female of the nephilim, a dryad or a nymph, but often it is a daughter of Eve who finds favour in their eyes. Stories of satyr promiscuity arise from this courting practice, combined with the extraordinary virility of these sons of Havayah. But once the achavah choose their ba’alit, they are faithful to her for life. She is the very centre of their life. From such unions only satyr sons are born. After the birth of their seventh son, though they continue to lie with their ba'alit, the satyrs' semen loses its fertilizing potency. And thus the seven fathers beget seven sons, and the cycle continues.

The more Na'amah told Ilanah about her experience with her satyrs, the more Ilanah saw Yaqum's words and actions in a new light. Would she forever bitterly regret turning her back on Yaqum, just as her grandmother regretted leaving her satyr family? Was it too late now? Had she ruined things forever between them? 

‘But I am barren,' Ilanah said glumly. 'I suppose they would not want me, if I could give them no children. Nadav did not.’

‘You do not know what they would want, granddaughter. The only way to find out is to ask them, this Yaqum of yours, and his brothers.’

  


V

Ilanah rose before dawn, washing her body and hair, combing and braiding it by lamplight, donning a clean skirt and breastband and wrapping a shawl round her shoulders against the morning chill. In the early half-light, she made her way back to her oak tree, hoping against hope that Yaqum might return there, so that she could speak to him again, and implore his forgiveness. She would wait for him there, for days if need be. She had no other way of finding him.

But arriving at the oak glade, she saw several small bodies lying at the foot of her tree. She ran towards them. Her heart leapt: there was Yaqum, asleep on the ground, clutching to his chest the three books she had left behind the day before; and roundabout him, six other satyrs. Snoring quietly.

She knelt beside Yaqum.

‘Darling’, she said softly, kissing his forehead, gently stroking his hair.

He sat up rubbing his eyes. ‘Ilanah! You ... you left your books behind yesterday. I was hoping you would come back for them. I kept them safe for you.’ He held them out to her.

The other satyrs stirred to life as well.

‘Oh, dear dear dear Yaqum. Never mind the books: it is _you_ I have come back for! Please forgive me! I spoke so cruelly to you yesterday. I did not know what I was speaking of. I will be your ba’alit, if you will still have me.’

‘W-what did you say?’

‘I will be your ba’alit.’

‘Brother,’ said one of the other satyrs, ‘you said this daughter of Eve was beautiful, but you did not begin to do her justice!’ All seven satyrs now stood in a ring round her, their phalluses all erect.

‘Hush, brother!’ Yaqum barked. ‘Precious Ilanah,’ he said in a gentler tone, ‘my brothers and I have come to an agreement. If it displeases you to lie with them, if you only wish to lie with me, we can accept that arrangement. So long as you live with us as our ba’alit – you seem to have learnt this word of ours somehow. I hope this will be acceptable to you. Know that we will always do our utmost to make you happy.’

‘But ... would your brothers have no wife of their own to lie with?’

‘That would not be in accord with our halakhah,’ said another of the brothers, with black hair. ‘If you are our ba’alit, we will be faithful to you. If you wish to lie with only one of us, we will be content with that. The sons that Yaqum begets on you – they will be our sons as well.’

Ilanah was stunned. This did not at all match what she thought she knew about satyrs, even after her talk with her grandmother.

She shook her head. ‘Your offer is incredibly selfless, and gives abundant proof of your noble character. I do not know each of you yet, but I begin to fall in love with you already. But, no, the arrangement is _not_ acceptable to me. If I am to be your ba’alit, I will be ba’alit to all of you, in true and in full.’

‘And we begin to fall in love with you, precious Ilanah,’ the dark-haired one replied. ‘Yaqum, of course, is already helplessly in love with you.’

‘But, dear ones, you should know ... my womb is barren. I can give you no sons.’

One of the brothers, with gentle hazel eyes, held his hand over her belly. ‘Who told you your womb is barren, precious Ilanah?’

‘My husband – _former_ husband – he could not get children upon me.’

The satyr shook his head. ‘Perhaps your womb closed itself to that son of Adam, because you did not desire a child with him in your innermost heart. But your womb is certainly fertile: I can feel it.’

Several of the other brothers held their hands over her womb, sensing her fecundity, and nodded in agreement.

‘Ilanah,’ said Yaqum, ‘I am delighted – _beyond delighted_ – with what you are saying. But ... what changed since yesterday?’

Ilanah explained her grandmother’s story.

‘So that was your grandmother?’ one of them sighed. ‘We know that achavah, they are distant kin to us. The loss of their ba’alit was a hard blow to them, but they still live. Well, we must not judge your grandmother's decision too harshly: if she had not returned to wed your grandfather, there would be no Ilanah today for us to love.’

‘They never took another ba’alit?’ she asked.

‘That is not our halakhah. When satyrs take a ba’alit, it is for life. Even if she leaves them.’

‘You should learn our names,’ Yaqum said at last. ‘May I present my eldest brother Araqiel. These are the twins, Chazakiel and Shamyaza. I am next in line. Then my younger brother Sariel. Then Armaros. And this one is our baby brother, Bezaliel.’

As each brother was named, he knelt and kissed Ilanah’s feet. This, Yaqum explained, was a customary gesture of greeting of a satyr toward his ba’alit. But the mixture of reverence and lust that she felt radiating from her new husbands made Ilanah feel giddy. And extraordinarily sexually aroused. She went round the circle several times, asking their names again and repeating them. Then she took her pen and ink and wrote the names in her book, to aid her memory:

================

Araqiel -- black hair

Chazakiel -- cute bushy eyebrows

Shamyaza -- lighter-coloured horns

Yaqum -- ♥️

Sariel -- reddish hair

Armaros -- a faint scar on his chest

Bezaliel -- hazel eyes

================

‘And how,’ Ilanah asked, ‘does a ba’alit greet her husbands in return, to show them her love and gratitude?’

‘However she wishes,’ Shamyaza replied.

She looked about her, at the beautiful phalluses of her seven husbands-to-be, all turgid, pointing skyward. Her love for Yaqum burned brighter than ever, but now six more flames had been kindled in her heart.

‘Very well, this is what I wish: lie down for me, side by side, from oldest to youngest. Just relax and enjoy this.’

Ilanah launched herself first upon Araqiel, kissing his mouth, his eyes, his cheeks, then his neck and chest and belly and thighs, before wrapping her lips round his phallus, taking the whole length of it deep in her mouth, till her nose was buried in his pubic fur. And she quickly discovered that a satyr’s fetlocks are extremely sensitive to touch. Against the determined onslaught of her mouth, combined with her gentle caressing of his fetlocks, the eldest brother did not last long, spurting his seed directly into her gullet. And so she worked her way through the achavah, kissing, caressing and enthusiastically fellating each of her new husbands, including Yaqum of course, stroking their fetlocks, acquainting herself with her husbands’ delightful little bodies, savouring their delicious satyr semen, becoming increasingly energized and sexually aroused as she went along, at last ending with young Bezaliel.

But by this time, her exertions at last caught up with her: a feeling of exhaustion came over her, though she still felt incredibly aroused. Her husbands helped her lie back on a soft bed of mosses. She reached out her arms to them. Bezaliel began kissing her, and then she felt her clothes being removed. Now Shamyaza and Sariel were both kissing and sucking on her breasts; another mouth – _ah! –_ sucked on her clitoris whilst his tongue plumbed the depths of her vagina; yet another tongue burrowed deep in her anus; and – _ah!_ – two more mouths kissed and caressed her feet and ankles and sucked on her toes. No one had ever made love to her feet before, and she was surprised at how erotic it felt, even with everything else they were doing to her.

That was the last clear thought she had before her body began orgasming and her mind relaxed into a haze of lust and love, carried along from peak to orgasmic peak. She was dimly aware of her husbands moving about, trading positions, taking turns at pleasuring the various parts of her body. Because of their diminutive stature, each husband could get right to where he wanted to be without the others getting in his way. She felt a phallus (was it Araqiel's?) enter her hungry vagina -- _oh,_ there was nothing diminutive about that thick pole! -- then erupt in a spray of semen against her cervix. The softening organ withdrew and was replaced by another hard one, but this time they rolled her onto her side, and another husband embraced her from behind, sliding his erect phallus into her anus. The two phalluses now pumped away inside her, before and behind, in alternating strokes, for quite some time, until they too both ejaculated within her. They withdrew and were replaced by two more, this time both filling her vagina, rubbing away against each other inside her, eventually depositing two more loads of hot semen at the mouth of her womb. Meanwhile, the other husband’s mouths and fingers continued to worship her breasts, her feet, her hands, her belly, her mouth, her ears, her neck, her hair. Ilanah’s brain could no longer track all the sensations: she just surrendered to the waves of pleasure and intimate connection to her husbands, as the lovemaking went on and on.

* * *

She felt a gentle shaking. She opened her eyes.

‘Ilanah, sweet honeybee, are you all right? We are so sorry ...’ It was Armaros, peering into her face, looking extremely worried. His brothers stood behind him, wringing their hands.

She sat up and stretched, enjoying the warm sunlight on her naked body. Never before had she felt so relaxed, so at home in her body. Sex with Yaqum the day before had been incredible, but this ... with all seven brothers pleasuring her at once... this was many levels beyond even that.

‘Do not be sorry, dear husbands. That was ... _amazing!_ ’ Ilanah beamed. ‘Was I asleep for long?’

‘An hour, perhaps,' said Yaqum, still looking worried. 'At first we thought it best to let you sleep, but then we began to grow fearful that you were unwell, that we had harmed you. You are truly all right? It was not too much, all of us at once?'

‘That was ... oh! just _beautiful_. I have never felt better! Thank you, my dear husbands.' I hope ...' Ilanah blushed, 'I hope you will make love to me like that often.’

‘Count on it, honeybee,’ grinned Sariel. ‘Evening, morning and noontime.’

‘Are you hungry, honeybee?’ asked Chazakiel, bringing forward her shawl, in which he had bundled a large assortment of wild apples, figs, dates, plums, grapes, almonds (already shelled for her), as well as wild cucumbers, radishes, mushrooms, green onions, and olives.

She ate hungrily, and her husbands helped themselves as well, till they had finished it all.

Spitting out the stone of the last plum, wiping her mouth on her arm, Ilanah looked down at her body.

‘Husbands, I am a mess!’ she laughed.

‘You are beautiful,’ all seven of them replied.

‘Ack, I am covered with dried semen! And I am sticky with fruit juice now as well.’

‘That is exactly how we want our ba’alit,' grinned Armaros, 'well loved and well fed.'

‘There is a small lake a short distance from here where we can bathe,’ said Araqiel. ‘Come brothers, _we_ are a mess, even if our ba’alit is not: the fur of our legs is all matted. Let us clean ourselves up so that our ba’alit is not repelled by the sight and smell of us.’

After bathing with her, the seven satyrs, needless to say, could not resist making love again to their ba’alit, filling her orifices with semen again, necessitating another dip in the lake afterward. This time, Ilanah was less the passive recipient of their attentions and more an enthusiastic participant, to everyone's delight -- so much so that the satyrs and their ba'alit then indulged in a further round of lovemaking, followed by more bathing. Then another round. Ilanah was pleased to observe that the other brothers adored her fat bottom, and enjoyed kissing and playing with it, just as much as Yaqum did. Well, there seemed to be no part of her that her husbands did not adore, but her bottom appeared to be high on their list of favourites.

It was now well into the afternoon. 

'This is best, is it not, honeybee?' grinned Shamyaza. 'You are too much woman for just one husband. It would be a waste: you would be neglected. You need an achavah. We will keep you well satisfied in every way.'

'Indeed this is best,' Ilanah beamed. 'I need each and every one of you. Come here, husbands.' She embraced and slowly, soulfully kissed each brother, from oldest to youngest. 'But I will always be especially grateful to Yaqum, for it is through him that you have become mine.'

After all that lovemaking, Ilanah felt so wonderful, so radiant, relaxed and confident. She felt completely loved by her satyr husbands, and her heart was filled with an answering love for them. She felt the blessing of Havayah upon her husbands and her: the Presence was palpable. With her new husbands beside her, she was ready to take on her village.

‘Dear ones, you have spoken of your halakhah of marriage. We children of Adam of Eve have our own halakhah. You must declare me as your wife, before ten witnesses.’

  


VI

Na’amah was playing hide and seek with her three-year-old great-granddaughter Tzipporah, one of Ilanah’s many cousins, when she heard a commotion outside her house.

Striding purposefully into the centre of the village, Ilanah could be seen, with her seven satyrs trotting behind her. Na’amah could not stifle a cry, of anguish mixed with joy ... they so reminded her of the husbands she had deserted.

Surrounded by a gaggle of murmuring, confused villagers, Ilanah called out loudly: ‘There is a minyan here, good. You are hereby witnesses, that I take these brothers: Araqiel, Chazakiel, Shamyaza, Yaqum, Sariel, Armaros and Bezaliel, as my wedded husbands, according to our halakhah, and theirs.’

‘Peace upon you’, said Araqiel. ‘And we take this precious daughter of Eve, Ilanah, as our ba’alit, our "wife" in your tongue, according to your halakhah and ours, in the Presence of our great Mother Havayah.’

The murmuring grew louder. Lamech, father to Ilanah’s former husband Nadav, stepped forward.

‘What is this folly, Ilanah? This shamefulness of yours ... _satyrs_ ... I must say, it does not surprise me. But why must you make your shame public? If you choose to debase yourself with a pack of nephilim, that is your affair. Do not involve the village in your unseemliness.’

The satyrs bristled at this, but Ilanah whispered to them to remain calm and let her respond.

‘I am not “involving” you in anything, Lamech. I am not asking for anyone’s permission, nor their blessing. I simply tell you: you are now witnesses, whether you like it or not, that these brothers have taken me in marriage according to halakhah. That is all.’

‘So go with them then. Good riddance, I say. Do not trouble our village any longer with your presence. You are not welcome here – neither you, Ilanah, nor these nephilim that you defile yourself with.’

Na’amah could contain herself no longer. ‘And who are you, Lamech,’ she roared, ‘to say who is unwelcome in this village? Ilanah is my granddaughter; many of us here are kin to her. Of course she is welcome here, she was born here, this is her village! As for her marriage, she has my blessing. I wish every happiness for her and her fine new husbands.’

‘Na’amah,’ Lamech replied condescendingly, ‘your natural affection for your granddaughter has blinded you. You _cannot_ _possibly_ mean to allow nephilim, and the daughters of Eve who shamefully consort with them, into our village, to corrupt us.’

‘I myself am such a daughter of Eve, Lamech. Many years ago, I lived with a band of satyrs.’ A gasp went up from the crowd. ‘I loved and was loved by them, and I bore them sons. But my only shame was in severing my ties to them when I returned to this village. Why could I not visit friends and kin in this village from time to time, whilst continuing to live with my satyr husbands? Why should Ilanah not do so? What is this “corruption” that you speak of?’

‘And what is this “marriage” to satyrs that you and your granddaughter speak of? Satyrs know no such thing as marriage! Everyone knows, satyrs will copulate with any creature that has a hole to stick it in,’ Lamech laughed drily. ‘Look at them, standing before us, with their shameless erections! Even as I speak, these satyrs are eyeing our wives and daughters, plotting how to seduce them. I think I speak for the whole village in saying –’

‘What _I_ know,’ called out a woman named Tamar, ‘is that _you_ , Lamech, do not know what you are talking about. These satyrs have erections because they are in the presence of their wife. In my youth, I was befriended by a family of satyrs. They made no attempt whatsoever to lie with me. They already had a wife, a hamadryad, to whom they were utterly devoted. Alas, they moved away from here, and I have not seen them since. You sons of Adam could learn some lessons on marital faithfulness from satyrs, it seems to me.’

‘If they did not attempt to lie with you, Tamar,’ Lamech sneered, ‘perhaps it was because of your ugliness.’

Lamech thought this was a clever, witty comeback; but he had badly miscalculated. The crowd murmured angrily. Tamar was kin to half the village, and Lamech had just publicly insulted their kinswoman.

Yoram, the oldest and most respected of the villagers now spoke: ‘Nu, enough of this! We must call a bet-din in the next few days, to assess what restitution Lamech should make to Tamar for this insult. As for these nephilim, Ilanah speaks correctly: they have taken her in marriage before witnesses, and she has assented, so they are now her husbands according to halakhah, though this is different from our sort of marriage. In light of what we have heard just now, perhaps our beliefs about satyrs need to be revised. But our personal opinion of them, positive or negative, is irrelevant: the halakhah is clear. Certainly Ilanah is welcome in her own village, as Na’amah reminds us. And so must her husbands be. So ... will Ilanah’s kin not prepare a wedding feast for them?’

  


Epilogue

Ilanah’s new husbands could eat very few of the dishes served at the feast. The satyrs’ halakhah did not permit the eating of any cooked food. So they filled up instead on cheese, fruit, nuts and olives. They did, however, very much enjoy the wine that Ilanah’s parents served them, and began to grow tipsy – Ilanah had to warn them to switch to water. Sariel stood up and sang a comical wedding poem. Chazakiel chanted a hymn of thanksgiving to Havayah; Her Presence descended powerfully upon the village, touching everyone's heart, reassuring them of Her blessing. Then Ilanah's cousins Yuval and Itamar brought out their flute and drum, and the dancing started. The satyrs delighted the assembled village with their energetic, acrobatic style of dancing, including flips, handstands, and amazing leaps. Even Lamech and Nadav applauded. The youths of the village tried to imitate their moves, though the sons of Adam did not have the right sort of legs for it. Ilanah’s heart swelled with pride and pleasure in her husbands, as they danced exuberantly round her, and she in turn seductively swayed and gyrated her vast, juddering bottom at them in time with the music, making their eyes nearly pop out of their heads.

As the celebration wound down, Grandmother Na’amah approached the satyrs and began speaking to them in their own tongue – haltingly at first, but then with increasing fluency, and urgency. Soon she was weeping.

‘What did you tell her?’ Ilanah asked her husbands worriedly.

‘She wants to speak to her satyr husbands again,’ replied Araqiel. 'She doubts whether they can forgive her for leaving them, but we assured her that they will be overjoyed to have their ba’alit back again. She also doubts whether she could find her way there, after all these years, but we know the location of their cave. ’

‘With your consent, honeybee, your grandmother can accompany us when we take you to our home,’ said Chazakiel. ‘Her husbands’ cave is not far from ours, a few day’s journey east of here.’

‘Your home?’

‘Certainly. Did you think we would make you live out in the open fields? We have a cave of our own ready for you, honeybee, with a large bed -- large enough for all of us to lie in together -- and comfortable furnishings. The cave has plenty of room for the sons you will bear, with Havayah's blessing. We will grow wheat in some nearby fields, and equip the cave with an oven, so you can bake bread, and make other cooked foods for yourself. And whenever you wish, we will return with you to this village so you can visit your kin.’

‘You would do all that for me?’

‘For our precious ba’alit, we would do anything.’

‘I begin to realize that I am the most fortunate child of Havayah in the world, to have you seven as my husbands.’ She drew them close and said in a low voice, ‘Oh husbands, I so desire to lie with you all again, to show you with my body how much I love each one of you. But ... with my grandmother travelling with us, we cannot. We must wait.’

But Na’amah overheard. ‘Ilanah, do not be absurd: I will sleep at a distance from you and your husbands, whilst we travel together, and give you privacy with them whenever you wish. Of course you will lie with them. I know well what goes on between satyrs and their ba’alit, believe me. And if I happen to overhear anything of your lovemaking, it will merely remind me of the days when I was a beloved ba’alit.’

‘Thank you, grandmother’, Ilanah blushed. ‘I expect that those days are far from over for you.’

Ilanah and her grandmother returned to their respective huts to retrieve a few garments and other belongings. Ilanah included her books. The two daughters of Eve said farewell to a few friends and kin. Then they set forth, with the seven satyrs, on the eastern trail out of the village, toward the great river. As they walked, Yaqum and Shamyaza began to teach Ilanah words of the satyr tongue, as her grandmother listened in, refreshing her memory.

Ilanah eagerly looked forward to nightfall, when she could lie with her husbands again. And in the morning, she smiled to herself, perhaps there would be time for her to give them a reading lesson, before they resumed their journey.

  


_To be continued?_


End file.
